(always loved them both...always wanted to live them both)
Nov 9, 2009
Nov 8, 2009
Nov 7, 2009
The Lobster in Me.
So for the past few weeks I've been babysitting my mother. It's what I was bred to do, alas.
Tonight, as a reward (?), she offered a free meal at the local casino, deep in the industrial wasteland of the westbank. I at first refused, but she's a high roller on the penny machines, so the lobster buffet was comped, and so were the show tickets.
Where else can you can get a lobster and snow crab buffet with stale hushpuppies and all the macaroni and cheese you can eat...all the while listening to The Carpenters and Leo Sayer....while a staff of Filipina grandmothers serves up all the diet coke you can handle?
Anyway, never one to refuse a lobster, I relented and went.
I've never seen so many velcro sneakers in my life.
Tonight's big draw, I suppose, was a concert by none other than superstar Sheena Easton herself. High roller that she is, mom had free tickets.
She commanded the stage in a snappy black velvet blazer and sensible black slacks, from what looked like Talbot's sale rack...in 1999.
She's a belter, I'll give her that. You could hear her loud and clearly even over the incessant "Brand New Cadillac Escalade giveaway" announcements.
She opened with a bit of operatic riffing, but segued quickly into a medley of "U Got the Look"/ "Sugar Walls". She knew what the crowd wanted.
A hefty second tier wedding singer filled in for Prince.
There was a lot of loud banter, with a stop for a "spot of tea" and a "How are y'all?" delivered in a charming Scots accent.
We were seated across from two tables of Sheena fans, chatting enthusiastically in Vietnamese. I suppose she's big in Vietnam. In the distance I could see a small table of gays. I could tell by the lack of velcro.
We left the concert early because my mother just couldn't resist the pull of the nickel slots. I missed out on my one chance of hearing "Morning Train" live.
(Other than the time I heard the quadriplegic karaoke it in another suburban casino lounge, that is. Come to think of it, I'm not sure even Sheena could best that.)
She begged me, unsubtly, to accompany her to the casino. Something she knows I hate.
The whole place is like one big floating convalescent home/arcade...with nicotine piped in the airconditioning system.
I resisted for a while, but of course went. She probably wishes I hadn't, since I'm something of a jinx. She lost 50 dollars and I got case of the black lung.
(all of her classic videos seem disabled by request...the better to boost those suburban casino ticket sales, I guess, but this gem from ET c. 1985 is even better, I think. )
Tonight, as a reward (?), she offered a free meal at the local casino, deep in the industrial wasteland of the westbank. I at first refused, but she's a high roller on the penny machines, so the lobster buffet was comped, and so were the show tickets.
Where else can you can get a lobster and snow crab buffet with stale hushpuppies and all the macaroni and cheese you can eat...all the while listening to The Carpenters and Leo Sayer....while a staff of Filipina grandmothers serves up all the diet coke you can handle?
Anyway, never one to refuse a lobster, I relented and went.
I've never seen so many velcro sneakers in my life.
Tonight's big draw, I suppose, was a concert by none other than superstar Sheena Easton herself. High roller that she is, mom had free tickets.
She commanded the stage in a snappy black velvet blazer and sensible black slacks, from what looked like Talbot's sale rack...in 1999.
She's a belter, I'll give her that. You could hear her loud and clearly even over the incessant "Brand New Cadillac Escalade giveaway" announcements.
She opened with a bit of operatic riffing, but segued quickly into a medley of "U Got the Look"/ "Sugar Walls". She knew what the crowd wanted.
A hefty second tier wedding singer filled in for Prince.
There was a lot of loud banter, with a stop for a "spot of tea" and a "How are y'all?" delivered in a charming Scots accent.
We were seated across from two tables of Sheena fans, chatting enthusiastically in Vietnamese. I suppose she's big in Vietnam. In the distance I could see a small table of gays. I could tell by the lack of velcro.
We left the concert early because my mother just couldn't resist the pull of the nickel slots. I missed out on my one chance of hearing "Morning Train" live.
(Other than the time I heard the quadriplegic karaoke it in another suburban casino lounge, that is. Come to think of it, I'm not sure even Sheena could best that.)
She begged me, unsubtly, to accompany her to the casino. Something she knows I hate.
The whole place is like one big floating convalescent home/arcade...with nicotine piped in the airconditioning system.
I resisted for a while, but of course went. She probably wishes I hadn't, since I'm something of a jinx. She lost 50 dollars and I got case of the black lung.
(all of her classic videos seem disabled by request...the better to boost those suburban casino ticket sales, I guess, but this gem from ET c. 1985 is even better, I think. )
Nov 6, 2009
Nov 5, 2009
more stuff I kind of need right now
A Matisse:
any one will do.
a Citroën Karin, 1980
Why wasn't 1980 really like this?
A Robsjohn Gibbings Klismos:
I've wanted one since I was a (very strange furniture- book-reading) little boy
China plates, with their chips and cracks gold plated:
There seems to be a metaphor there somehow, which I find kind of beautiful.
Better hair.
(I'm thinking "The Duke")
Nov 3, 2009
Thirty minutes ago:
Home late and hungry, I go to McDonald's.
Waiting to pay in the drive through, I halfway watch the driver of the car in front of me roll down her window and exchange money.
There seems to be a problem.
I can't quite hear.
Suddenly, the cashier opens the window and throws a small cup of
Hi C at the car with a hail of loose change.
A pause.
I turn off the NPR and listen.
The driver gets out of the car and brandishes her fists. Her Juicy Couture sweatsuit is wet
with red Hi C.
"Come on out hyuh, you throwed ass bitch! Come on out!" She screams, pulling frantically on the drive through window.
"You's that bitch that worked at grocery, ain't you? Come out here, punk ass scary bitch!"
In a split second the drive through window is ajar.
The driver has begun climbing through the window, head first, her Juicy Couture clad ass only just barely squeezing in.
I quickly pull out of the line and decide to cook tonight.
Nov 2, 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
